Christmas Promise
by sangre antigua
Summary: Bobby makes a promise to Jack to be there for him on Christmas. Jack/Bobby slash


**Author:** sangre antigua/TR4G1C [old penname].

**Rating; Title; Pairing:** T; Christmas Promise; Jack/Bobby.

**Summary:** Bobby makes a promise to Jack to be there for him on Christmas. Jack/Bobby slash.

**Warning/Disclaimer:** I do not own Four Brothers (sadly…), but the plot is mine. And, yeah. I have a thing for Bobby/Jack, cutesy stuff and the winter setting in Detroit. (: Enjoy!

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"_Don't worry, Jack. I'll be back home soon."_

"_You promise?"_

"_Would I ever lie to you?"_

"_Remember that one time—"_

"_That was pretty much rhetorical, ya' little fairy."_

"_When?"_

"_Soon."_

"_Will you make it home for Christmas?"_

"_I should."_

Bobby Mercer wasn't one to dishonor his word. He said things and then he did them. Whether it was, _"I'll cook dinner tonight ma'"_, or _"I'll help you with you homework in a second, Jack"_, or even _"I'm going to beat your fucking ass if you don't back the fuck off"_, Bobby kept his word. But right now, with fifteen minutes until the twenty-sixth of December, I didn't know if I could trust him. Every second that ticked away without his car pulling up in the driveway erased a fiber of hope from my heart. The organ wilted against my ribcage and made my whole body twinge in pain. As I lay on the couch in front of the window overseeing the white front yard, the dark pink curtains parted and every light off but the ones adorning the Christmas tree, I estimated that I had very little hope left. The organ would wither and fade, and there would be nothing left of me.

Christmas wasn't very important to me as a whole. Sure, it was nice to get a flashy gift or two and to see mom smile the way she did, but I didn't really need a lot. I had gone my whole life without having much to my name, so why would it change now? Having Bobby in town—now that was important to me. Bobby in town made me smile like nothing ever could. He took my pulse and made it both fast and slow. Every other emotion was canceled out by just hearing his voice. It left me in a state of blissful mindlessness, the kind that allowed me to glide through life, if only for a few hours, worrying about nothing and focusing on only one thing: him.

If a person was aiming to make me happy, all they had to do was get Bobby to come into town. I could beam for weeks with the flutter of butterflies sounding in my chest louder than a thousand jets taking off. When my birthday rolled around, I asked mom just to get Bobby to come and stay for the night. Even though she reminded me constantly that Bobby would "never miss a day like my birthday for anything", she said she would get Bobby to come into town. Bobby hasn't missed one of them yet. That should be reassurance for my dwindling faith right now, but for some reason I just can't…get over it. He said he would be here for Christmas. I originally thought that meant he would be here for Christmas day—not the wee hours of Christmas night, _right_ before it becomes just another regular day. But, hell, sometimes when Bobby says something, and you think it's the simplest, most cut-and-dry thing ever, it turns out to be more cryptic than anything you've ever dealt with.

The clock ticking over the entertainment center wasn't helping my mood at all. I wriggled down into the couch and pulled my blanket up to my chin in attempt to busy myself into ignorance. But it ticked away, louder and louder each time, as if whispering, _"He's not coming, go to bed. He's not coming." _I wondered if mom would freak out if I broke it. I've never been partial to it—hell, we have a cable box right below it with the same time, just illuminated and _silent_—and it wasn't a gift or anything. I don't think. I told myself to bring it up with her before I did anything too crazy, and sighed loudly.

The worst part wasn't even the ticking. It was that, somehow, it reminded me of Bobby. Maybe it was the insufferable ticking, which imposed itself on everyone and demanded to be acknowledged. Or maybe it was the way it sat, mounted on the wall. It looked like it was watching over the living room, kind of how Bobby watched over us.

It was probably just me. All of this thinking of Bobby has permanently burnt his image and characteristics into my brain. Yeah, that was probably it. Because I'm sure the flashing, rainbow lights on our Christmas tree _didn't_ remind me of Bobby's personality.

Where _was _he?

I turned on the TV, only to find Christmas reruns and bad infomercials. It was a poor attempt to take my mind off of him—I was going to lose all of my hair worrying like this—and, as all poor attempts do, it crashed and burnt before even taking off. So as the gas tank imploded and the insides of the plane became incinerated, I tossed and turned on the couch to a muted TV, thinking about the one thing that would make _me_ crash and burn.

My second attempt to stop thinking about him involved getting up and getting something to drink or eat. The kitchen tiles were cold against my feet as I walked. My teeth chattered and I cursed a few times. That was a good distraction. That is, until I reached the fridge. I opened it up and the first thing I saw was the dinner I had helped mom make, wrapped up for Bobby. What a buzz kill. I closed the door, kicked it with my foot, cried out rather loudly, and leaned against the freezer door. This wasn't fair of him to be doing to me. A promise is a promise, and if you're going to break a promise, don't do it to your little brother, who's obviously and pathetically in love with you. At least _call_, y'know? Give me a heads up.

I stumbled back into the living room and tried to keep my eyes off of the clocks. Time was moving really fast it felt like, and I had no doubt that it was only five minutes 'till. And I'm not gonna lie: that really, really hurt.

As I walked upstairs to fetch my cigarettes, I told myself not to cry. I told myself that it was bullshit to be crying over Bobby, even though he had promised he'd be there for Christmas. My knees locked up every few steps and I choked back tears, yelling at myself in my head about how if Bobby showed up in the next few minutes that I was going to get an earful of it. So I pushed past the tears and the resistance of my legs, made it to my room, got my cigarettes and a working lighter, and trekked back outside.

The blinding whiteness of fresh snow greeted me, and the smell of a sleeping world flirted with my nostrils. The sky was dark and cloudy, with bouts upon bouts of individually perfect snowflakes falling down to further blanket the earth. I loved the winter something fierce. Probably because I've been raised in Michigan my entire life. Or it could be that the winter makes Bobby so unbelievably happy.

I grumbled and sat down on the nearest chair. It felt like ice, and most definitely turned my balls into glass marbles. I shifted uncomfortably and pulled out a cigarette before tossing the pack onto the table beside me. With a few flicks of my lighter and a deep inhale, my nerves were calmed. The smoke of burning paper and tobacco in my lungs never felt so comforting. As I sat down my lighter, I wondered why mom hated these things. I mean, they evened my emotions quicker than someone could snap their fingers. And, if you didn't get the cheap, nasty shit, they tasted great. I glanced over at the box and agreed with the slogan on the side, which read "NEWPORT PLEASURE!" It was a pleasure, most definitely.

The sound of a passing car roused me from my indulgence. It was just a passing cop car making its rounds for the night. Instinctively as the car passed my house, the copper turned and glared in my general direction. All of the cops knew Bobby, 9 out of 10 for less than great reasons. They've caroled the whole Mercer family into the molding of his…actions. Some even glare at my mother, as if Evelyn, the sweetest woman on the face of the planet, could do anything Bobby could do.

_Bobby_…

Angrily I took a hit off my cigarette. I needed to stop thinking about him. Maybe I should've just stubbed this out and saved it for later. Gone inside and locked all the doors so that if he did show up, ten, fifteen, thirty minutes into the 26th, that he'd have to risk waking up mom and everyone else and making them mad. But I didn't. I sat on the porch, smoking, thinking about him with my eyebrows knitted together and my jaw clenched.

_Finally,_ after what felt like an eternity, I saw him pull up into the driveway. I didn't hear his muffler scrape the bottom of the driveway, though I know it did. I didn't hear his mumbled curses or his car door slamming as he got out. I just saw him. My cigarette dropped in the ashtray and my legs subconsciously carried me to him before I even knew what was happening, my eyes fixated on his flustered face. And even in the muted state of the world, I could still hear my heart racing faster, and slower, than it ever had.

The first thing I did was slap him. His expression was priceless after my hand made contact. Then he moved his arms, and I could've sworn he was going to hit me back. But his arms just opened up and in one swoop, he scooped me up and into one of the tightest, most comforting hugs I've even been in. He smelt like Old Spice and cigarettes and the hair gel he used, which I know by smell but never can remember.

He smelt like _Bobby_.

"I hate you," I whispered into his neck.

"I kept my promise," he replied, not missing a beat.

I countered, "It's the 26th. That's not _keeping_ your promise, that's _breaking _it, Bobby." Despite my words, I kept myself against his body. His smell and the heat radiating against me was so soothing.

He shrugged an arm free and checked his watch. "It's only 11:59, Jackie. I kept my promise." Futilely I hit him again, only to have the strength of the assault absorbed by his leather jacket. Softly he laughed at me. My cheeks flushed and I huffed loudly, shaking my head as I pulled away. "I had to work some overtime to get the next few days off, and the roads were icy. But I'm here. I'm your Christmas gift."

"You're such an ass," I muttered, picking at my nails.

"You love it." He lifted up my chin with one of his superior, I've-got-you smiles. And then he kissed me. It was soft yet passionate. Both parts made me melt against him equally.

"I love _you_."

"Merry Christmas, Jack."


End file.
